


click

by peachtones



Series: snap shoot ! [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (? maybe), Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Sasaengs, and a few select others, everyone else is still in nct but none of them are mentioned, only for wayv tho, there's coffeeshop au elements but this isnt a coffeeshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachtones/pseuds/peachtones
Summary: “I can help you,” Dejun said, intending to sound confident, only to have his tone turn up at the end like he was asking a question. He mentally facepalmed; his delivery left something to be desired, and now that he had offered a helping hand that he couldn’t retract, he realized how flawed the plan he had settled on really was. “Maybe,” he tacked on, just to be safe.“Okay,” the stranger said, deciding to put his trust in Dejun. “Help me.”There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes — Dejun couldn’t back out now.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: snap shoot ! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157375
Comments: 10
Kudos: 142





	click

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebot/gifts).



> blue, offhandedly mentioning another rarepair to me: h-  
> me, who loves to suffer in rarepair hell: Say No More
> 
> (also if any of dejun's dialogue seems weird or stilted it's bc he is speaking to jeno in korean, a language he isn't completely fluent in)

Dejun swung the bag of snacks he’d gotten from the convenience store lightly back and forth as he walked, texting to the groupchat he had with his friends with his free hand as he hummed along to a song that was stuck in his head. He couldn’t recall any of the lyrics, but he’d heard the opening melody as he’d left the convenience store and was determined to figure out what the song was. That meant having to sing through the whole song multiple times to see if he could remember any of the lyrics which he could then punch into Naver to try and see if he could figure out what song it was and put an end to his torment. He was currently on his third run through of the song already, and it was slowly causing him to lose his mind. If he didn’t figure out what it was by the end of the fifth run, he was going to have to resort to asking Yangyang, who was somewhat of a walking encyclopedia of songs, organized by beat.

He sighed when his phone vibrated with an incoming message from Xuxi (reading _I’m_ _being serious_ _I_ _rly think he’s my soulmate u guys just_ _don’t_ _get it we rly click on like a_ _molecular_ _level_ ), slowing his walk to a halt just before he reached the intersection that went out to the main road from the alley he’d been walking along so he could slip his bag of goodies down his arm and text with both of his thumbs, preparing to quickly type up a strongly-worded text to Xuxi on why it was a bad idea to elope with a boy he had met while on a spontaneously planned vacation in Canada before someone else (read: Guanheng, Ten, or Yangyang) could encourage this plan of his. At least, he was, until someone rounded the corner from the main round and barreled right into him, almost knocking him on his ass. By some stroke of luck, a pair of hands grabbed him before he could very far.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” the voice belonging to the hands asked, genuinely concerned as he continued to hold onto Dejun arms, looking him over as he helped him into his previously upright position. “I didn’t see you standing there, are you okay?”

Dejun left himself be manhandled by the stranger as he processed the whole situation that had just happened, before realizing he had asked him a question. He blinked, “ah. Yes, I’m okay.”

He looked Dejun over like he didn’t quite believe him, double-checking for something he might’ve missed the first time. He almost seemed like he was about to say something, but whatever he was going to say appeared to die at the sudden sound of several sets of footsteps running in their direction, accompanied by what sounded like people arguing (“Where did he go?” "I thought I saw him come this way.” “Are you sure?” “Check down there!”). The stranger hissed out a quiet, “ _shit_.”

Seemingly unwittingly, he backed Dejun up against the building wall in what must have been an attempt to flatten himself, and consequently Dejun, against it. It only took him a moment to realize what he had done, finally removing his hands from Dejun. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, before explaining, “they’re following me. I tried to outrun them, but they’re really fast.” 

Following him? Why would people be following him? His first thought was that this guy was some kind of criminal, but then trashed that idea — this guy was too nice to be someone attempting to flee a crime scene. Plus, he didn’t really look like a criminal. Granted, there wasn’t a set appearance or style criminals abided too, but this guy in front of him didn’t seem like someone who’d really commit any kind of crime, or attempt to flee a crime scene. He looked like any other trendy guy Dejun had seen while strolling through Myeongdong — his dark hair was styled into a comma shape he'd seen quite often in pictures and videos he’d seen of celebrities, bangs curling inward across his forehead, the faintest smudge of makeup around his eyes, and the lower half of his face shielded with a black mask. He had a jean jacket at least one size too big over a plain black sweatshirt, and that was as much as Dejun could see of his outfit, being as close as he was. He was probably wearing some dark wash jeans with a few rips in them and expensive brand name shoes, if he had to guess. Not that he would be able to tell if they were really brand name or not, but still. In addition to everything, the stranger was just slightly taller than Dejun himself, what couldn't have been more than a handful of centimeters. 

Now that Dejun was really looking at him, maybe he was a Korean celebrity. An actor? Or one of those idols he’d heard Kun talk about? He knew from Kun that sometimes idols they would be followed outside of schedules and events by stalkers who claimed to be fans of them, after he’d asked the elder to help him translate a news article he’d come across with a bunch of words he didn’t know. Maybe that’s the situation he was in? He was definitely handsome (from what Dejun could see of his face) and dressed stylishly enough to be one, and that would explain why he was being chased.

The sound of footsteps, closer than they’d been before, pulled him out of his thoughts. Their run had slowed to a walk, but he could still hear them echoing in the otherwise barren street. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it was definitely well-past one in the morning, meaning most of the family-owned shops along the main road had closed for the evening, leaving the street sparsely populated. The stranger — idol? — would definitely be found out if he just remained standing there, futilely trying to hide himself behind a brick wall. Dejun took note of the worried expression on his face, evidently coming to this realization as well.

He took a moment to run through a few plans in his head, before deciding _fuck it_ and opening his mouth.

“I can help you,” Dejun said, intending to sound confident, only to have his tone turn up at the end like he was asking a question. He mentally facepalmed; his delivery left something to be desired, and now that he had offered a helping hand that he couldn’t retract, he realized how flawed the plan he had settled on really was. “Maybe,” he tacked on, just to be safe.

The plan was simple: act like a couple making out in the alley to divert attention. It was definitely not one of his brightest ideas, but he’d recently watched one of the _Avengers_ movies with Guanheng and the scene with Captain America and Black Widow had popped into his head. That had to be based off some sort of fact, right? But on the other hand, it was a movie. Movies lied all the time, over-exaggerating the truth for entertainment purposes. But this seemed rather realistic, something based on truth.

The only other option was to sneak back down the alley and hope they wouldn’t be spotted by the horde of stalkers. There was also the fact that he may have to run if they were spotted, since he was now this stranger’s accomplice, and seemed too nice to just leave him behind. The thing was, he wasn’t exactly confident in his ability to run longer than a minute, let alone long distances. He’d probably just end up dragging him down with his lack of endurance. Still, they could try their chances, and maybe do so successfully if they were sneaky enough. Dejun knew the area pretty well, but he wasn’t sure if he could manage it in the dark, with people chasing him. Hm.

“Okay,” the stranger said, deciding to put his trust in Dejun. “Help me.”

There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes — Dejun couldn’t back out now.

“Okay?” He repeated, making sure this stranger was really okay with him — _also_ a stranger — helping him out. There was no guarantee he’d be any help at all. For all they knew, he could just end up making things worse. The stranger nodded. “Okay.”

Immediately he took hold of the stranger's arm and pulled him further into the alley, stopping under a street lamp whose bulb had burnt out a week ago and had yet to be replaced. As soon as they had moved to a spot that was a bit more secluded, he tugged at the jean jacket the stranger had on. 

“Off,” he told him, only to be on the receiving end of a confused look. He let out a little impatient sigh, insisting, “ _off_. Quickly.” 

Dejun pulled the beanie he was wearing off his own head and shoved it onto the head of the man in front of him, tucking a few strands of hair that were visible below the fabric up under it once it was snugly on his head, before reaching past him to grab the hood of his sweatshirt and tug it up over his head.

“Oh,” the stranger said belatedly, realizing what Dejun was doing. Without a moment's hesitation he shucked off his jacket and held onto it dumbly for a moment, unsure what to do with it now that it was no longer on his person, before Dejun took it from him and shoved it into his bag of snacks. 

Dejun mimed tugging a mask down under his chin. "Mask, too.” 

There was a moment of hesitance, but he did as Dejun requested. 

The voices from the group could clearly be heard now, carrying down the alley (“I thought you said he came this way?” “He did! I swear I saw him come this way.” “Guys, lets just give up. My mom’s going to be pissed at me if I don’t get home soon.” “Lets just go one more block, then we can go.” “Ugh, fine. One more block.” “Stop being a brat, you wanted to see him, too.”). They were chatting back and forth too fast for Dejun to properly understand them, only being able to pick out a handful or words and a single sentence as they spoke. Still, he was able to gather they were going to end up walking past the end of the alley. That meant his time was up, and he couldn’t put off initiating the most crucial part of his (dumb, absolutely ridiculous plan). 

“Don’t be surprised,” Dejun told the stranger before he wrapped his arms around him, one snaking around his waist while the other went to rest on his shoulder. "I'm not going to do anything.”

And then he pulled the stranger close enough that he stumbled forward, their noses grazing each other’s cheeks. The stranger inhaled sharply, and Dejun didn’t know if it was from the action or their newfound proximity. But he didn’t immediately recoil, so Dejun took it as the go ahead to continue with his half-baked plan. He adjusted his limbs into something that was more comfortable, something that looked more natural and then glanced up, only to see that the stranger’s eyes were squeezed shut. Not just closed, but actually squeezed shut. It seemed like he was holding his breath, too.

After a moment of just looking at him, Dejun whispered, “you can open your eyes."

Instead of opening his eyes, he whispered back, “you have an accent.”

“I do,” Dejun replied, confirming the obvious.

“Where are you from?”

"Guangdong. China.” The stranger hummed in acknowledgement, something low in his throat. In an attempt to be polite, Dejun countered with, “you?”

“Incheon.”

“Like the airport?”

A quiet laugh was startled out of him, before he pressed his lips together. “Yes, like the airport.”

The footsteps seemed to stop just at the mouth of the alley, only noticeable because of the sudden absence of noise. The stranger stilled in Dejun’s arms; he didn’t know when the stranger’s hands had made their way to his waist but sure enough there they were, curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt. In that moment, Dejun realized he never did explain his plan. He had planned on it, even with his not-so-stellar Korean, but he hadn’t realized he’d been on such a time crunch. The stranger seemed to understand what he had been going for, though, because he decided to take the initiative and lean into Dejun despite their close proximity, which led to Dejun being pressed up against the wall. He adjusted the position of his head too, tilting it to the left. It was Dejun’s turn to hold his breath — if he were to tilt his own head up a little and just a hair to the right their lips would’ve been touching. Even though it had been his idea to make it look like they were making out, he couldn’t help the blush that rose to his cheeks at the thought. 

While Dejun was preoccupied with the thought of _definitely_ not kissing this handsome stranger, said stranger ducked his head completely without warning, moving his face so it was against Dejun’s neck just under his jaw, a hairsbreadth away from actually touching him. If Dejun wasn’t pink before, he definitely was now. He could feel the heat in the tips of his ears, betraying him.

“Ah, _wait_ ,” he said frantically, slipping into Mandarin as he squirmed, the stranger’s breath fanning across his neck, “wait.”

“Should I stop?” he asked and Dejun shivered, his lips having just barely brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck. It took him a moment to realize that he’d spoken back in Mandarin. Okay, sure, why not? Of all the idols he’s run into, of course this one could understand Mandarin.

“I’m ticklish,” he admitted, even though he didn’t know what the stranger’s level of fluency was. He’d said he was from Incheon, but those two things weren’t mutually exclusive — he could still be fluent in Mandarin and be from Incheon.

The stranger just hummed. (Dejun didn’t know if that meant he understood or not.)

With this new position Dejun could see over the stranger’s head and down the alley, catching a glimpse of the group of people that had been chasing him — what appeared to be a group of girls, most of them wearing hats and masks, phones in hand. One of them had an actual camera in her hands. It was hard to tell if they were looking down the alley or not, or just standing around.

Nonetheless, Dejun mustered up the best dirty look he could manage and shot it their way, like he had just caught the group spying on them. One of the girls seemed to notice the look, quickly turning around and grabbing the arm of the girl next to her to whisper something to her. Immediately, she looked down the alley.

“Dejun,” Dejun mumbled, keeping his glare aimed down the alley. The second girl seemed to realize what she was looking at, because she too turned around, while also being slapped on the arm by the first girl, before dragging her forward. The rest of the group followed, looking confused. Thank goodness for what Guanheng referred to as his “intimidating eyebrows”.

The stranger lifted his head a bit. “What?”

“Dejun,” he repeated, before switching to Korean. “Deokjun. My name.”

“Oh. I’m...Jeno.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeno. Also, I think they’re gone now.”

Jeno straightened himself up, glancing down the alley. “They are,” he noted, before turning to Jeno and giving him a smile. “That was a smart plan.”

“Yeah,” Dejun agreed, unconvincingly.

After that whole debacle, Dejun made the executive decision to bring Jeno with him back to Kun’s café, since he didn’t know how long the girls were going to linger in the area and sending him off on his own after that would leave Dejun wondering if something happened to him after they parted ways. Sure, he could search his name later, but he had no idea how many celebrities were named Jeno. It was better just to bring him back with him and send him on his way safely.

As Dejun unlocked the storefront Jeno leaned over his shoulder and asked, “do you work here?” 

Dejun pulled the door open, holding it open for Jeno to enter first. “No.”

Jeno stepped into the unlit café, Dejun following him in. “Then why do you have a key?”

“It’s…” Dejun tried to think of the right word, before settling on, “complicated.” 

Okay, to be honest, it really wasn’t that complicated. Kun trusted both him and Yangyang enough to give them each a key to the café, intending for them to only use it for one of two circumstances: to lock or unlock the doors when Kun was unable to himself and to bring ingredients and other foodstuffs into the store during the café’s while it was closed. He may have been abusing his power a little it by bringing Jeno into the café, but he considered the current situation to be an emergency and an exception to the rule. Plus, there was no way in hell he was going to bring Jeno upstairs and risk exposing his presence to Yangyang, who would probably recognize him without a doubt.

Dejun didn’t elaborate on his answer and Jeno didn’t ask any further, so the subject was dropped. 

He set his bag from the convenience store on one of the tables that didn’t have a chair placed on its surface and fumbled around for a moment as he tried to locate the switch for the set of lights over the counter lined with assorted drink-making related machines. He found it eventually, flipping it on and slipping behind the counter. flipped the switch for the cluster of lights over the counter lined with machines before slipping behind it. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked, already pulling a mug off the shelf without waiting for an answer. Kun was absolutely going to kill him if he found out he was using the machines, but it was absolutely worth it.

“Sure,” Jeno said, walking up to the other side of the counter.

“Okay,” he said as he set down the mug to push up his sleeves. “But I can only make three things.”

Jeno leaned against the divider. “Which are?”

"Hot chocolate, espresso, Americano," he listed off. 

Jeno took a second to think, tilting his head to the side and pursing his lips, before deciding, “one hot chocolate, please.”

“Alright.” 

Luckily Jeno had picked the easiest drink out of the three to make, which required none of Kun’s fancy coffee machines to make (well, he could steam the milk rather than boil it like he was planning on, but he’d burnt himself last time Kun had let him use it and he didn’t want that to happen quite yet). Dejun crouched to retrieve the milk and cocoa powder from the fridge and shelf under the counter respectively, retrieving a pot from a cabinet as well. When he stood back up he noticed that Jeno had grabbed one of the stools from the taller tables, placed it in front of the counter and was sitting on it, presumably to watch Dejun make his hot chocolate.

Dejun set the pan on the single countertop burner the café had and poured the appropriate amount of milk in for two servings, turning it on. It was a waiting game now. He decided to take the extra time to grab a few more ingredients and another tool — honey, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and a whisk, as well as another mug for himself.

“Deokjun-ssi,” Jeno said after a little while.

It took Dejun a moment to realize Jeno was talking to him. “Hm?”

“What year were you born?”

“1999.”

“2000,” Jeno said, gesturing to himself.

“Ah, that makes me your hyung, right?” Dejun said, almost testing the word _hyung_ out in his mouth. He had practiced using the term with Kun, but it wasn’t as comfortable as _gē,_ so he’d rarely used it, let alone had anyone use it refer to him.

Jeno smiled. “Yeah. Can I call you hyung?”

“If you want.” The milk was starting to bubble just a bit, so Dejun set about preparing to mix his ingredients. 

“Deokjun-hyung, what made you think to do that?”

Dejun glanced up at Jeno. His arms were crossed over the top of the divider, watching the older portion out his ingredients. “Do what?”

“The thing,” he said, gesturing incredibly vaguely.

Dejun felt his cheeks heat up again when he realized what Jeno was gesturing. "Oh, I saw it in a movie," he admitted, turning back to the hot chocolate. "Honestly, I didn't think it would work."

“I’m glad it did.”

Dejun nodded in agreement, turning the heat off the burner so he wouldn’t scald the milk as he added everything to it. He began to hum as he worked about whisking the ingredients together before he could stop himself, the song from earlier returning with a vengeance. Once everything was combined, he divided the pot between the two mugs and turned back to Jeno to ask whether he wanted whipped cream or not, but stopped short when he saw that Jeno was giving him a curious look. 

“I have this song stuck in my head,” Dejun explained, even though he didn’t need to. “I don’t know who it’s by or any of the lyrics. Okay, I know some of the lyrics. Not enough to look up on Naver. It’s tormenting me.”

Jeno nodded slowly. “I see.”

Dejun held up the can of whipped cream. “Yes, no?”

Jeno nodded his head, so he sprayed a generous amount of whipped cream into one of the mugs and gave it a light drizzle of chocolate syrup, leaving his own bare. He carefully handed Jeno his mug over the divider and cleaned up his work space before picking up his own mug. “How is it?”

Jeno narrowed his eyes at Dejun over the rim of his mug. “I think you lied to me about not being a barista.”

“I’m not, I promise.”

“Hm, I’m not sure if I believe it.”

“What barista can only make three drinks?”

“You’ve got a good point,” he said. He took another sip of his hot chocolate before reaching over the divider to set it on the counter. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, only to frown and then pat himself down before groaning and slumping over the edge of the divider.

“What is it?” Dejun asked.

He looked up. “Can I borrow your phone? I seemed to have...misplaced mine.”

Dejun nodded, fishing it out from where he’d stashed it in his pocket, unlocking it before handing it off to Jeno. He sipped at his drink as he watched Jeno tap around a bit, looking a little confused, before finding what he was looking for and beginning to furiously type out what Dejun assumed was a text message to someone who would come pick him up. He even went so far as to take a picture of himself (probably to confirm his identity? Dejun wasn’t really sure) and send that along too, waiting for a response before he gave Dejun back his phone.

The two drank the rest of their hot chocolates as they continued to talk, but their conversation topics were a bit limited due to the language barrier blocking them from delving any deeper than talking about what Dejun was in South Korea for (taking a break from schooling) and where Jeno learned Mandarin (through two of his friends, who had moved from China to South Korea as well). 

Sooner than either of them would've liked, a car pulled up in front of the café. Jeno seemed to recognize it, informing Dejun that that was his ride, and handed his empty mug back to Dejun, who placed it in the sink along with his own. Jeno hopped off the stool and returned it to where he'd taken if from as Dejun gave the mugs a quick rinse, lingering awkwardly for a moment before he started towards the door. 

“Oh, Jeno!” Dejun exclaimed before he was quickly rounding the counter, patting his damp hands on the front of his pants.

Jeno turned around, his hand on hovering on the door handle. “Yeah?”

“Your jacket.” He fished Jeno’s jean jacket out of his bag of snacks, walking to the door a little faster than necessary to give it back to him. 

Jeno took the jacket, giving him a sincere smile. “Thank you, Deokjun. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Jeno. I hope we can meet again soon.”

There was a moment's pause where neither of them said a thing, standing silently before Jeno mumbled, “um, I should probably...”

“Go?” Dejun asked, and Jeno nodded. He finally pulled the door open and exited, Dejun following him out but lingered in the doorway. He waved to Jeno when he reached the car, calling out, “get home safely!”

Jeno just nodded, waving back before he climbed into the car’s passenger side. Dejun watched the car back out and pull away before he went back inside the café to properly clean the mugs, and hope Kun didn’t notice he’d been there at all.

As soon as Dejun stepped foot inside the café the next day, Kun called out his name and motioned for him to come over to the counter.

Dejun hadn’t told Kun (or Yangyang) what had happened the night before, but neither of them had questioned why he ended up coming back to the late either. That, as a result, left him on edge, just waiting for Kun to say something to him. Dejun knew there were cameras inside the café and that the alarm system would’ve definitely notified Kun that someone had entered the café with a key earlier that morning. 

Kun hadn’t said anything about it earlier that morning when they had all eaten breakfast together, so he assumed this was it — Kun was going to make him give up his key, and he was going ground Dejun. (Dejun knew realistically, Kun couldn’t ground him, but Kun had assumed such a parental role in his life that he felt if Kun said he was grounded, that he would accept such a punishment) He had already gone through the five stages of grief and had already accepted his fate, even going so far as to preemptively remove his key from the novelty lanyard Xuxi had gifted him with when they first met. 

Dejun dropped his stuff onto an unoccupied table before walking over. “What's up _Gē_?”

“Someone came by earlier and dropped something off for you. I put it in the break room, since I didn’t know when you were going to be back." 

So he wasn’t getting grounded?

“Oh. Thanks?” He wasn’t really sure who would be bringing him things, though. His friend group was pretty limited at the moment, not really extending past anyone who was associated with Kun to some degree, and while that was a lot of people, he couldn’t think of a single one who would leave him something, at least not without telling him first.

When he entered the break room, there was a small bag sitting on the table in the middle of the room, a tuft of tissue paper sticking out of the top. There was a gift tag tied to one of the handles with his name printed carefully in Korean on it, nothing else. 

He pulled the tissue paper out and found a baseball cap sitting in the bottom of the bag. It was black, with a logo Dejun didn’t recognize on the front. Weird. He didn’t see a card of any kind along with it, to indicate who it might have been from. He picked the tissue paper up to return in to bag and a piece of cardstock fell out from seemingly out of nowhere onto the table. It must’ve gotten stuck in the paper when he took it out. The side that had landed facing upwards was blank so he picked it up, flipping it over. On the other side was a handwritten note, which appeared to match the tag, from what he could tell.

On it, printed in very neat _hanzi_ , the note read: _This hat isn’t yours, but I hope one of my hats is a fair trade for the beanie of yours I accidentally stole. (Sorry.)_

Underneath, written in marginally less neat _hangul_ was what Dejun assumed was the same message, from what words that he could recognize. At the bottom was the name _Lee Jeno._ Dejun flipped the card over once, twice, before reading it again. He took the tissue paper back out of the bag and looked at the hat again, before putting everything back in the bag. Huh. He’d honestly completely forgotten about the beanie, but it was nice of Jeno to offer something in exchange for it.

Dejun returned to the main area of the café, bag in hand as made his way over to where Kun was standing behind the counter, wiping down the machines. Without a word, he handed the younger a mug of something hot. Dejun took it with a _thank you_ and took a sip.

“I don’t have to prepare to tell your parents you’re involved in a dating scandal with a member of one of South Korea’s most popular boy groups, do I?” Kun asked, waiting until Dejun was mid-drink.

Dejun choked on his drink, quickly setting down the mug before he could spill it all over himself, croaking out, “ _what?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> a few fun facts abt this fic:  
> \- blue is an enabler  
> \- if i didnt stop this fic like the end of a drama episode i couldve gone on with it forever. i apologize for the abrupt ending but just imagine the classic freeze frame and ads for tom n toms and isaac toast lmao  
> \- the title comes from two definitions of click ("the sound a camera shutter makes" and "to quickly/easily become friends with someone")  
> \- kun basically runs a hostel/is a host "family" in addition to running a café. currently he is hosting dejun and yangyang, but xuxi and guanheng's stays overlapped with when dejun arrived, so they're all buddies  
> \- the song dejun had stuck in his head was "boom" and he could only remember the chorus but u cant really type boom 20x into a search bar and hope for any good results (trust me i tried)  
> \- there was going to be a little scene where jeno kissed dejun on the cheek before he left the café but in the end i decided not to include it bc it just didn't fit the vibe  
> \- jeno added himself as a contact in dejun's phone, but dejun just hasnt noticed yet lmao  
> \- jeno also wore dejun's beanie on the way to his next schedule that day :)  
> 
> 
> \+ [twitter](https://twitter.com/peachfreezy)  
> \+ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/peachtones)


End file.
